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It’s been a long, damn week. Things still aren’t quite normal physically, and I feel absolutely drained. Like someone pulled the plug, and, oh look, there’s my energy & motivation in a big puddle on the floor. See it?… it’s right there. The cramping only lasted two days, but there’s been a general feeling of unwellness… dizzy, exhausted, headache, and now a peachy little respiratory infection.

It’s not hypochondria if it’s true, right?

We went to Virginia to visit Mama’s family this weekend… the trip was planned pre-miscarriage, and the cramping had stopped by Thursday evening, so off we went. Friday was a quiet, lovely day with just grandparents & cousin-I-like. Sue took some gorgeous pictures that really captured the essence of the entire day. It was easy to remember the many, many summers (every summer, actually) growing up… our week(s)-long trips to our grandparents’ tiny white clapboard house was the highlight of every summer vacation.

I told Grandma about miscarriage #3, and she cried and hugged me tight. And I cried, and it confirmed that the wounds that our relationship suffered during the months surrounding Mama’s death have indeed healed. For that, I am so thankful.

There was a downturn Friday night, when I found myself trapped in a conversation between my sister & grandmother about breast-feeding and sleepless nights and such. My sister’s healthily pregnant, and she needs to talk about these things. I understand this, I do. But I could feel the tears coming, and wanted nothing more than to leave the room and crawl in bed. I knew that if I left abruptly, it would be noticed and discussed, so I sat for a few moments, trying not to listen, then excused myself and slipped out.  [Polite Sarah, 1. Infertile bitch, 0.]

Saturday morning, I was ready to leave before my eyes even opened. I could hear talk of cousin-I-detest coming to visit, and I told Bobby that it would be just super if we could exit before her arrival. No such luck. Here she comes with her brood of redneck children, and, for the first time, I saw the baby who has my name. The poor little thing is as good-natured as she can be, but is as ugly as homemade sin… it’s not nice to say, but it’s god’s honest truth.  She is the spitting image of my cousin’s husband, a look that does not translate well to a female. And cousin-I-detest has let her hair grow into a mullet-esque rat-tail that hangs half-way down her back. Bless her heart. Her mama’s butt needs to be kicked.

I know that some of ya’ll are out there thinking I’m a heartless wench. And for the record, I don’t much care. Judge away, judgy-pants. My blog, my hateful opinion. Pbbbbffftttt. [Polite Sarah, 1. Infertile bitch, 1.]

Ok, now that I’ve had that 5-yr-old moment, what was I saying? Oh yes, the weekend. Came home Saturday. Skipped church yesterday, which I regretted the entire remainder of the day. I used my respiratory disgustingness as an excuse.  I always think bad thoughts about people who are hacking up a lung and sneezing all over the place — I wonder why they didn’t just keep themselves and their germs at home. Didn’t want to be one of those people… and if I’m completely honest, didn’t want to go anywhere that I had to smile and be nice. I know that must be hard to believe since I’m such a bright ray of sunshine.  [And infertile bitch takes the lead.]

So here we are. One week since BabyLoss, Take 3, and still kicking. This one really, REALLY wasn’t anything compared to Take 1 and Take 2. There’s been some hormone-related snarkiness, but minimal tears and emotional devastation.

RE appt is two weeks from today. Am looking forward to getting this show back on the road.

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